When we were prepping Dale for the semi-final, I had to run gas out of the Valiant for him, as the fuel depot was closed and he was running on fumes. The poor 440 clearly had it's tongue hanging out, with the last three runs in just over an hour, but Dale is one of those guys that will burn a car to the ground to keep collecting win lights.
"The trans-brake is going away", he shook his head, "it lurched that time, and I can hear a couple of the clutches rattling around in the case."
Anyone who has ran a p-glide for a long time is familiar with the sensation, it breaks the clutch plates into two or three pieces so that they push away from the splines, then eventually enough break that the brake won't hold and you lose reverse.
"Maybe just foot brake it and hold the button just to activate the nitrous?" I suggested.
"Naw, I need the tree against these guys...besides, it's time to poor the coals to her and get my eight!"

In the semis, Scott Klepinger's Turbo Camaro shoved through the beams, and Dale lifted at the 330ft mark, since he knew they were going to hot lap him back against Shane's Nova who only had to break the beam, and back up on his bye.